


Light and Song

by CaptainTarthister



Series: The Lannisters Are Coming [20]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne POV. Sorta angsty but has more fluff and sweetness.</p><p>_____<br/>A short installment in my series, The Lannisters Are Coming. I'm not yet done with Into the Wild, the story that comes before this. Light and Song also appears in Meet Me At Midnight, a collection of Jaime/Brienne ficlets set in the world of my ongoing series. But this can be read on its own. Thank you for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light and Song

Brienne POV. Sorta angsty but has more fluff and sweetness.

Rating should be slightly mature but I think the fluff makes it GA. :-)

 

It’s impossible to remember every touch bestowed on a person.

Brienne has no memory of her mother’s too-soft breath on her cheek following her birth. The warm cradle of her arms before a final gust escapes her lips, causing the baby’s eyelids to flutter when it hits them, before the machine monitoring her heartbeat shows a flat, green line.  
She doesn’t know that Selwyn could only touch her with a finger at first; a light flutter down her plump, freckled arm, a hesitant, airy brush on her forehead. Her eyes were blue mirrors of his own and they followed his trembling fingers as they hovered over her, debating whether to touch her completely or not.

Uncle Galladon was quick to hold her, his heartbeat a hard hammer against her cheek because she was small and soft, too soft, he thought. His arms are thick and corded and they might crush her. Endrew marvelled at the softness of her skin; it is the softest thing. Duncan, who was hesitant touching something so vulnerable, was the first to draw a smile from her when he bumped his hooked nose against her chin.  
Brienne doesn’t know these things. Neither do they remember. They were the first touches, careful, laden with fear, but soon forgotten when they realized her size did not mean she was breakable.

It would be years before she learned, as she watched with dull eyes pieces of herself drifting never to return, when she first knew, really knew, how it was to be broken. She sought the kind touch of Gendry Waters, directing him where, how, but she never remembered where his hand went first, where he kissed her first. Neither with Hyle, who was familiar yet also a stranger. Even with her eyes wide open she won’t remember any of their moments together. The room was too dark; she herself had retreated into a darkness no light would reach.

Until he came along. He whose every touch has left tread marks on her skin that only she can see. Yes, she remembered everything and everywhere Jaime Lannister touched her. His presence toggled on this secret switch, brought light.

He is the sole navigator of her body, her heart. Brienne only has to close her eyes to trace the paths and turns of his hands and lips. The first time, his fingers on her lips; the softer skin yields easily at the light press of his hand when he caresses her that first time by the water fountain at the hospital. The memory is implanted deep yet summoned easily: the taste of dirt and sweat on his fingers, the smell of dry earth and sun from their skins. His fingers ease between her own as if they had done it before, doing it forever.

Her stomach, a flat, freckled plane, hollowing as it remembered the press of his knuckles when he grabbed her coat’s too-tight belt and cut it with a pair of scissors. The warm tingle flaring that washes her entire back remembering Jaime’s lips roaming there the first time they made love against the kitchen counter. His breaths are violent puffs in her ear.

The night their twins were conceived. Again he had touched something in her that brought light, burning brighter.

He pulls her arms over her head, sinks himself in the heat between her legs with a ragged sigh, fire in his green eyes. She gasps; he has always been familiar yet also new. Nothing is as ever right as when he is in her, hard and deep. Fever makes her skin more sensitive, redder. She buries her fingernails in his shoulders on his third thrust, her long legs locking around the rippling muscles of his back. His laugh, always rich, always warm, also moves something in her. Inwardly she’s skittering all over when he kisses her cracked lips.

When Brienne feels their babies move inside her for the first time, it is just as wonderful as having Jaime inside her. His hand on her belly steals her breath, like the first time he kisses her.

When Jaime pulls her legs over his shoulders, when he shoots her that dimpled grin that tells her he is up to no good, only devastation, her stomach tightens in knots. Always. Because she is still disbelieving he loves her as he does. She is helpless until his lips brushes against her damp curls, his tongue parts her soaked folds. His tongue never circles the same way twice—but how can she remember when she seems to burn hotter than the sun? He does destroy her every time like this but she is also powerful, powerful because only she can get him to worship in this way.

When they sleep, his arm always wraps around her on that place on her waist; her wide hip cradle the lean press of his own. When she wakes up, she is half on top of him. Jaime’s breath feathers her forehead, his heart beats strong and sure against her breast.

A shiver runs through her when he kisses her at the nape in their sunlit kitchen as she prepares breakfast. Her cheeks burn pink and vivid when he brushes another errant straw-blond lock from her forehead, from her lips. The pulse below the curve of her jaw is erratic when he starts kissing her, on the cheek, on her lips, when he brushes against her throat, below her ear. A hot ache blooms from between her legs when she catches his eye from across the room, wherever they are, no matter the crowd. It intensifies when she sees him playing wrestling with Drew and Ty, when he kisses their golden heads, when he falls asleep on the bed or the couch and their sons are in his arms.

When they walk and their arms are around each other, it is as if they have always done this. There is no awkward straining to reach her though she is taller, no effort in any degree. His hand settles on her shoulder, likely because of an invisible groove there because it always lands on that spot. Her fingers are always drawn to the hollows between his ribs. She know when and how the abdominal muscles would shift under her fingers.

But it is when Jaime doesn’t touch her that plucks a string from somewhere deep, very deep inside that releases the first note of their song, only their song. “Wife,” he says, green eyes soft and golden, a look that is only for her, she has come to know. “Brienne, my love.”

These words. His voice. Tender. Him. The only things that unlock that special place far inside. Her heart races, her knees knock together. The red that flares across her face is a rich, vibrant shade. Though she teeters and struggles, she is also steadfast and sure. She only needs to look at him, her eyes becoming bluer, as she says, softly, too softly, because it is for his ears alone, “I love you.”

When she tells him this, she feels that shift within him too, a place far inside that only she could touch and bring light.

And song.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day! 
> 
> _________  
> All characters by George RR Martin. I own nothing and know nothing.


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